


When the Things We Love are Turned Against Us

by ActuallyMe



Category: Mabel (Podcast)
Genre: Anyways, F/F, before season three and four happen I think, so this is when Anna goes into the hill for Mabel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyMe/pseuds/ActuallyMe
Summary: It’s dark.  Is this what a star feels like?  When it’s centre devours it, when its core inverts and turns into a clump of mass so dense it pulls everything including light towards itself?





	When the Things We Love are Turned Against Us

They make me sing. Like you said they would.

I used to love it, you know? Singing. The way that the sound curls out of your mouth, vibrating against your cochlea like bells. I don’t love it, anymore. It feels like punishment. Like… like Pavlov’s dog, I guess. I’ve come to associate it with begging, with fear. If I don’t sing, I don’t eat. If I don’t sing, they hurt me. They hurt me, so I sing. As well as I can, but only when they make me.

It’s so much worse without you. I knew it must be. I knew, and still. I did it. Because I keep my promises, Mabel, I keep them, especially to the people I love, especially to you. But it’s so so lonely, and I can feel the vines growing in me like they grow in the house and Mabel. Mabel, I think I’m dead. I think I’ve died, and this is hell.

There’s something, something cold and cancerous growing inside of me. It’s dark. Is this what a star feels like? When it’s centre devours it, when its core inverts and turns into a clump of mass so dense it pulls everything including light towards itself? I think… I think that’s what I feel like. I feel like I’m losing myself to the darkness, and a black hole’s maw has opened up inside where my guts should be, pulling at me, at everything. I’m losing myself to this place. 

I know you think I deserve this. Maybe I do, maybe my love for you blinded me. If our situations were reversed, would I have allowed you to take my place? No. I wouldn’t have. But then, I wouldn’t have had a choice. 

Hay una puerta. Necesitas descubrir-lo. That’s what your ghost-dad said to me, the ghost-dad you never knew, the one you despise. He didn’t warn me about what would happen if I stepped through, but then, the flowers should have been my first clue. I think I must have known, anyway. That last riddle didn’t surprise me as much as it should have, I don’t think. 

Sometimes, they make me dance until my feet bleed, and still afterwards, on broken skin I dance, on tired legs, on exhausted limbs. I feel my bones cracking and twisting out of shape; I feel them bend and break and snap under the weight of my choices.

I’m not a martyr. Martyrs are consecrated, anointed by God. This place is godless, and God gave up on me a long time ago, when I kissed a girl for the first time, when the holiness of our moment threatened His monopoly on the sacred.

Remember the first time the house took me into its ghost-self? I thought it was consecrated. I thought it was becoming holy. I guess the line between holy and hell just isn't as defined as we’re lead to believe.


End file.
